


Freefall

by strandedchesspiece



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Clay Spenser Whump, Clay and Brian friendship, Clay whump, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Team, Team as Family, Worried brothers, asshole ash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece
Summary: Set after Mexico in season 2, a bad day sees Clay tip over the edge. He makes the mistake of going drinking alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out it's hard to study with a story sitting half written on my computer. Hopefully now this is out of my head I can get on with things! Set just after Mexico, season 2. All mistakes belong to me. Thanks for reading :)

Clay hadn't done well in the wake of Stella leaving. He'd been blindsided, the ground pulled from beneath him. No amount of training had prepared him for the devastation that followed, as all of his future plans had unraveled dizzyingly - leaving behind an ache that didn't seem to fade, no matter how much he drank.

But he'd sucked it up, somehow got on with things. Shook it off and poured all his focus into his work. And he'd been doing okay, until Ash Spenser had shown up at his door, casually suggesting they catch up for a beer as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had caught him off guard, much like Stella's exit from his life, and had left him unsettled. Frayed his nerves. Wobbled his precarious tower of barely repressed emotions. He hadn't wanted to meet his asshole father for a drink, but he'd agreed to, against his better judgement - more proof that he wasn't firing on all cylinders.

Their catch up was another punch to the gut.

He should have known that Ash would have an ulterior motive. Clay didn't want to read the manuscript of his father's second book, but he'd agreed to – the words leaving his lips before his brain had a chance to catch up. He should have known that the selfish bastard had only wanted to meet to talk about himself. It shouldn't have surprised him, and yet … it stung.

Clay kicked himself for giving the guy half a chance. What was he thinking? He hadn't been thinking. All the beer in the world couldn't fix their fucked-up relationship.

And then there was the interview.

Clay had felt himself go numb as he'd stared at the bar's television, listening dumbfounded - but hardly surprised - as Ash spoke about his upcoming book, boasting about how he had first-hand accounts of top-secret missions, from an actual SEAL.

Clay's vision had tunneled, his ears ringing sickeningly as a surge of anxiety threatened to tear the bottom out of his stomach. He knew beyond a doubt that it wasn't him who had given up such information, but would others know that? Would his brothers know that? He would be the first to come to mind if anyone asked. And he was sure that at some point, someone would ask. Ash had to have known that.

Feeling ill, he'd left the bar without so much as a goodbye. Once home he'd barely made it to the toilet before his stomach had emptied its scant contents.

It had taken a considerable amount of time for the panic attack to pass, but he'd managed to regain his composure and steady his tower once again. Rein it in, stash it away - just as he'd been taught. He made a vow to have nothing to do with Ash Spenser ever again, no matter what.

And he'd been doing okay emotionally, until today.

Today, as he was sifting through one of his kitchen drawers trying to locate the instructions for the ridiculously complicated juicer that Stella had gifted him a lifetime ago - that he really should get rid of because he hardly used it, and it reminded him of her - he came across an old, bent photo. Curiously he brought it out, rubbed it back into shape, blinked at the image.

It was a photo of him and Brian, from the day they had found out they were accepted into Green Team. Smiling like lunatics. Feeling like they were on top of the world.

And that did it.

With a huff and a puff, Clay's precarious tower of emotions came crashing down, and the resulting tsunami was enough to buckle his legs and send him crumpling to his dirty kitchen floor, photo still in hand.

Tears waterlogged his vision, and they hurt. It felt as if his insides were twisting and wringing them out of his eyes. His breaths came in jagged gasps, as he collapsed into a puddle of ugly emotions – overwhelmed and drowning.

Why did he have to find this photo today? Today, of all days.

He'd been trying not to think about his best friend, who he missed so often. Especially today. Because today –

Today was one year exactly since Brian had died.

Previously unshed grief gripped Clay and shook his shoulders, pulled every muscle so tight it burned. He sobbed uncontrollably, until his tears had wet the collar of his shirt and his chest.

Finally catching his breath, he leaned his head back against a cupboard and squeezed his eyes closed.

Everyone had a breaking point.

Perhaps he'd just reached his.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Clay felt caught between the present and a year ago; that God-awful day when he'd stood out in that damned field desperately searching for his best friend safely on the ground – but knowing in his heart that he wasn't there. Would never be there again. And all the adventures they were meant to have together, all the things they were meant to do, would never be. For the first time since his father had abandoned him as a kid, he'd felt the ground completely ripped out from beneath him.

When he looked back, he had no idea how he'd managed to graduate Green Team. It had been a bittersweet victory without Brian by his side. Clay didn't like to think about where he would have ended up if Bravo hadn't pulled him out of that barrel at the end of SERE. His brothers had done more than liberate him – they'd saved him. In more ways than they would ever know.

Realizing that sleep was going to be hard to come by, Clay took himself out for a drink. Sonny had messaged to ask if he wanted to come hang out with him and Davis, mentioned that they might be able to help Clay get back on the horse and find a nice lady. But Clay had politely declined.

Tonight, he wanted to drink alone.

Grief still shadowing him, Clay sought out a bar that he and Brian had frequented a few times. Not the same bar where he'd met Stella - no, he would avoid that one for a while longer. This one was about a ten-minute drive, close by Sonny's apartment. It was a known hang out for navy personnel.

As Clay entered, he scanned the room quickly, hoping that Sonny and Davis hadn't come out drinking anyway – breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't spot them.

Solemnly, he ordered a drink, silently toasting Brian's memory. He downed it, and promptly ordered another. He and his team weren't required on base the next day, so he could have as many as he liked. And right now, he liked a lot.

Once the clock crept past one AM and he could barely see straight anymore, Clay decided he should probably call it a night. He'd been hit on by a few girls and was growing tired of politely declining their advances. Unsteadily he slipped off the bar stool, held the counter a moment while he gained his balance, and then headed for the door.

He didn't notice the three guys watching him as he left.

Out in the parking lot he fumbled with his keys, dropped them, nearly faceplanted the ground as he went to pick them up. He was far too drunk to drive and planned to sleep in his car until he sobered up. He was barely getting any sleep in his own bed lately – what was a night in a parking lot? He'd slept in far worse places.

He approached his car, squinting at the lock, unable to decide if it was moving or if it was him swaying on his feet. Normally, he was as sharp as a tack. Senses completely in tune with his immediate environment. But tonight, drowning in memories and drunk up to his eyeballs, he wasn't as aware as he should have been.

Which was a mistake.

Clay only realized he had company when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and a fist connected with his jaw before he had a chance to react.

He went down. Hard.

Boot clad feet kicked at him – his stomach, his ribs, his back. The attack was sharp and fast, and ended nearly as abruptly as it had started, as if his attackers didn't want to inflict too much damage.

"This is a message for your asshole father," a gravelly voice announced.

A heavy boot pressed between Clay's shoulder blades, keeping him down. Not that he could have stood up, even if he'd tried. He could barely catch a breath.

"He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. He's an embarrassment to the Navy."

The boot pressed harder.

Clay tasted blood and felt gravel grit between his teeth.

A few more sharp kicks, and then the sound of footsteps quickly retreating across the parking lot as his attackers disappeared back into the night.

Clay groaned, clutching at his bruised abdomen. With considerable effort, he pushed up on an elbow, grunted, nearly vomited, got himself into a sitting position and scooted back to rest against the cold door of his car.

What. The. Fuck.

Gingerly he reached to probe his left eyebrow. There was a gash above it, seeping blood down into his lashes. It didn't feel deep, but it hurt like a bitch. Clumsily he wiped his vision clear, blinking at the crimson smeared on his sleeve as he lowered his arm.

The guys who had jumped him were nowhere in sight, and Clay didn't expect they would be back. He guessed they must have spotted him in the bar, recognized him and followed him out.

A breathless, bitter chuckle rattled his battered ribs, and he leaned harder against his car, sending his gaze to the cloud-smothered stars above.

Those guys had caught him off guard, sure. It wasn't easy to bring down an elite operator. If Clay was sober he could have easily taken them all out. But tanked up on alcohol, he hadn't stood much of a chance.

They'd thought they were sending Ash a message by beating up his precious son.

Clay huffed another chuckle, leaned to the side, spit blood, held back vomit. "Asshole doesn't give a shit about me," he muttered, split lip twitching, head throbbing. "Never has." He pushed up from the ground, entire body protesting. He scrunched his face in a wince.

"Never will."

He stood, panting against his car. Turning carefully and glancing at his shadowy reflection, he felt anger well within him. But it was short-lived, and quickly gave way to defeat. He wondered what Brian would think of him, going out to drink away his sorrows and ending up with his ass handed to him.

God, he wished his friend was here.

Clay recalled a conversation they'd had when he'd ended up in the bottom five in Green Team. Brian had not-so-subtly told him to pull his head out, given him the verbal equivalent of a smack to the head.

Clay let his gaze drift back towards heaven. He could imagine Brian saying something along those lines to him now, telling him to pull himself together.

And Adam would probably be with him, arms folded and steely gaze.

Shake it off.

Clay drew a steadying breath. Everything hurt, despite the numbing effects of the alcohol. He didn't think anything was broken, and he hadn't blacked out, so he doubted he had a concussion. He would feel it in the morning though. And he wouldn't be able to hide it from his team mates. They would lose their shit.

Split lip quirked again. Clay didn't envy the guy's who'd ambushed him, not once Bravo found them.

Which he had no doubt they would – once they'd given him a stern talking to about how careless he was getting so hammered on his own.

Groaning as he imagined the magnitude of the lecture he would most likely receive from Jason, Clay pocketed his keys and hugged his aching middle. He couldn't quite see straight, but he was coherent enough to know which way it was to Sonny's place.

Brian had been all about friendship. If he were here, he would tell Clay to stop being an idiot - sleeping in his car was a dumbass idea.

So, with that in mind, Clay pushed off the car and wavered slightly, found his balance after a step or two, and staggered through the parking lot back towards the street.

He hadn't leant on his brothers nearly as much as he should have recently. He was stubborn and liked to wallow in his own misery sometimes. Trusting other didn't come naturally to him, and for a long time Brian had been the only one who he'd let in behind his fortified walls.

But he was trying, he really was. He was slowly learning to trust his new 'family'.

Team is all the family you need.

Adam had said that to him, not long after Brian had died.

Clay swallowed jaggedly, eyes blurring with more than just the effects of the alcohol as he recalled his late mentor's words. He'd scoffed, at the time, not understanding the depth of the statement. But now, with all that had transpired, and all that he'd been through, he could appreciate what Adam had been trying to say.

Ribs burning and breath hitching, Clay forced himself towards Sonny's apartment, hoping like hell that his brother was home.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny glanced at his phone, chewed his lip before throwing the device back onto the couch.

Davis raised an amused eyebrow at him from where she sat beside him. "That's, like, the tenth time you've done that," she stated, taking a sip of her beer. "You're not going through a break up. Clay just wants a night in, that's all." She leaned into him and bumped his arm playfully.

He squeezed a grin, knew she was right. He was just concerned about his boy, that was all. Clay hadn't been right since Stella had left, and despite Sonny's tendency to want to blow things up first and ask questions later, he felt really damned protective of the kid and just wanted to make everything better. But Clay was also … complicated. Push too hard and he'd shut down faster than an illegal poker game in a police raid. It was a delicate operation.

"It's cute, you know," Davis mused, smiling.

Sonny glanced at her, noticing the pretty twinkle in her eyes. They'd decided to stay in and have a few beers when Clay had declined the invitation to go out. 'A few beers' had turned into 'a few beers with benefits', and, well, now here they sat, snuggled up on the couch, half-clothed.

"What's cute?" He asked, leaning forward and placing his empty bottle on the coffee table.

"You and Clay," she replied. "The way you look out for him." She rested her hand on his thigh as he leaned back, gave it a pat. "You're a good big brother."

Sonny laced his fingers through hers, rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "Well, growing up with sisters, you know, I always wanted a kid brother."

"And now you've got one." Davis leaned closer, kissed him gently.

"Yeah," he huffed. "Pain in my ass, though."

"But a loveable pain in your ass."

Sonny grinned, kissed her back. Yeah. He supposed that summed up Clay.

It was going on one-thirty AM. Neither of them felt like drinking any more, but both were reluctant to call it a night.

"I really should go," Davis muttered, half-heartedly.

"Do you have to?" Sonny felt like that was a terrible idea. He leaned in and kissed her neck, her jaw.

She giggled and twisted, hopping up onto his lap, facing him with her arms around his neck.

They stared at each other a moment.

"What are we doing?" She asked, shaking her head, grinning.

"I can think of a few things," Sonny replied. God she felt good.

Davis leaned close and kissed his cheek, bit his earlobe. "I meant," she whispered in his ear. "What are we doing, messing around like this."

He tilted his head to the side, releasing a long breath. "Having fun?" He guessed. Although he knew what she was getting at.

"Playing a dangerous game," she corrected, pinning him with a look. "If we ever got caught …"

"We'll make sure we never get caught," he cut her off, cupping her face gently and feeling her lean into his palm.

She nodded slowly.

But they both knew that if their relationship was ever found out, things would go to shit in a heartbeat. Sonny had run the scenario through his head a thousand times. It absolutely couldn't happen. But, if it ever did …

He'd decided it would be worth it.

They gazed at each other, both lost in thought.

An abrupt knock on the door startled them so badly that Davis nearly toppled off Sonny's lap.

Their eyes met briefly, before they were both scrambling for their clothes, hearts in their mouths.

Sonny edged towards the door, glancing back at her. He motioned with his hand for her to go and hide. He had no idea who could be knocking at this hour. But it couldn't be good.

As he approached the door he heard a muffled thud and a soft grunt. His steps faltered. The hell? Instinctively he reached into the drawer of a small cabinet that stood by the front door, pulling out a knife that he kept there. You never could be too careful. He hadn't got this far in life by trusting people.

Bringing his eye to the peep hole, he scanned the immediate hallway.

No one was there.

A knock from further down the door startled him. Someone was there alright, and they were either really, really short … or they were on the floor.

Gripping the knife, ready for whatever came at him, he opened the door.

A body tilted over the threshold and sprawled in a heap with a grunt.

It didn't take Sonny even half a breath to recognize Clay.

"Holy hell, Bam Bam," he muttered breathlessly, quickly scanning the hallway and dragging his brother the rest of the way inside. "You sure know how to make an entrance." He slammed the door, locked it hastily.

He rolled Clay over onto his back and crouched down, taking in the bloodied face and the reek of alcohol.

Clay's eyes cracked open. He lifted his head and squeezed a lop-sided grin. There was blood in his teeth. "Mind if I come in?" The end of his question was clipped with a cough. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, scrunched his face and let his head fall back to the floor with a clunk. "I don't feel so great," he admitted brokenly.

Sonny gaped, scrambling for a witty comeback. But worry stole his words. "Clay, dude," he breathed. "What the fuck."

Clay grunted. Cracked his eyes open again and blinked at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, man," he said quietly. "I, uh, went out dancing without you. Ran into trouble." Guilt washed over his features.

Sonny pulled himself together, gently helped Clay sit upright, bracing him as he swayed dangerously. "What sort of crazy ass dancing would land you in this mess?" He inspected the gash above Clay's eye. It had stopped bleeding, wasn't too deep. Thank God. And the blood in his teeth seemed to be coming from a split lip.

There was a sound from behind him, and he vaguely realized that Davis had emerged from her hiding place. She hurried into a crouch on the other side of Clay, her gaze flicking from him to Sonny, looking about as rattled and confused as he was feeling.

"Oh, hi Lisa," Clay said politely, his head lolling slightly. He jerked it back up to smile at her. "I'm glad you guys hung out anyway. Sorry for blowing you off."

Sonny briefly wondered how drunk Clay was, and whether he would put the pieces together regarding the nature of his and Davis' 'hang out'. He scrubbed a hand over his beard.

Davis had a steading hand on Clay's shoulder, was checking him over just as Sonny had, concern plastered across her face.

"Come on," Sonny announced. "Let's get you up and over to the couch, take a proper look at you. And you can tell us exactly how you ended up looking like you've gone ten rounds with the Hulk."

Wincing, Clay shifted and allowed them to help him stand. He wobbled violently, an arm slung around his middle. "Ribs," he breathed, leaning heavily against Sonny. "Don't think they're broken. Hurt like hell though."

Sonny tried to be as gentle as possible. Between himself and Davis, they got the younger man to the couch, laying him down and wedging a cushion behind his head.

"I'll get cloth and some warm water," Davis offered.

Sonny nodded towards the kitchen. "There's a med kit in the cupboard above the fridge," he told her. "I keep some sterile wipes and pads in it."

She was on it.

Sonny regarded his team mate on the couch. It was obvious Clay was more than a little drunk. He felt a pang in his stomach. What on earth had possessed the kid to go out drinking on his own?

Clay blinked at him, as if reading his thoughts. "I, uh -" he began, fumbling for words. "I'm sorry. I just needed to be alone tonight." He drew a jagged breath. "Had a rough day. Needed some space to do some thinking."

Sonny quirked an eyebrow. "How'd that work out for you?"

Clay grimaced. Squeezed his eyes closed again. "Not well," he admitted.

Sonny nodded slowly, let out a breath. "Yeah, see, if you go out drinking without me …" He gave Clay a stern look. "It makes it really damn hard for me to watch your back."

Puppy dog eyes blinked back at him.

Sonny huffed. "Knock it off. I ain't falling for that look."

Clay scrubbed his expression clean, sighed heavily.

"Room spinning?" Sonny guessed, watching the kid's face.

A small nod.

"You gonna hurl?"

Clay shook his head carefully. "No," he replied quietly. "Just feel like I've been hit by a tank."

Sonny bit his lip. At least the alcohol would be numbing some of the pain.

Davis appeared with the med kit, crouched beside Sonny and began fishing through it.

"So," Sonny said, pulling out some alcohol swabs, tearing into the packaging. "You gonna tell us what happened?"

Clay blinked at them, eyelids heavy. He was obviously spent. He drew an uneven breath, let it out slowly. His eyes became suspiciously glassy.

Sonny raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. He didn't want to push too hard.

Davis shifted beside him, placed a reassuring hand on Clay's forearm. Squeezed gently.

Clay cleared his throat, obviously struggling for words. Sonny suspected it wasn't just the alcohol scrambling his memory. The kid obviously had some emotional storm going on inside him.

"I, uh," Clay started. Faltered. Refocused. "I was jumped by a few guys in the parking lot of the bar down the road," he admitted.

Sonny's muscles tensed. He'd expected a bar fight, not an ambush.

"It wasn't exactly random," Clay admitted.

Sonny exchanged a brief glance with Davis. He didn't like where this was heading.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked with a troubled frown.

Clay shifted, winced, sucked in a steadying breath. "I mean," he explained, staring at the ceiling, unblinking, "that some guys targeted me. Must've seen me in the bar, followed me out." A tinge of bitterness settled over his features. "Decided that beating me up would send a message to Ash." He huffed, clenching his jaw. His gaze flicked to Sonny. "I guess the joke's on them, right?" He blinked heavily. "My father couldn't give a flying fuck about me."

Sonny's stomach clenched at Clay's words. He felt torn between anger at the guys who had hurt his brother – and heartbreak at the numbness in Clay's eyes as he'd mentioned Ash's name.

Davis opened her mouth as if she wanted to offer reassurance that that wasn't the case. But she knew as well as any of them that the elder Spenser was an asshole who couldn't see past his own nose. Closing her mouth again, she settled for rubbing Clay's arm gently. "We'll find the guys who did this," she said, her tone convincing. "I promise."

Sonny leaned back on his heels, swallowing the sudden urge to crack skulls. He knew Davis' word was good. The guys would be found, and they would pay. He had no doubt of that. Right now, his priority needed to be Clay. "We'll deal with those jackholes later," he stated. "Swear to God, they're gonna wish they'd never laid a finger on you."

Clay didn't reply, just chewed his lip. His eyes were still glassy, red-rimmed with dark halos. One slightly swollen. Sonny wondered how long it had been since his brother had had a good night's sleep. He kicked himself for not noticing sooner how wrecked Clay looked. He had been so preoccupied with his feelings for Davis, that he'd failed to notice his best friend going under.

"Davis," Sonny said quietly. "Think you could grab an ice pack or two from the freezer?"

She patted Clay's arm, broke the contact and pushed to her feet.

Sonny shuffled closer to his brother, eyed the gash on his forehead and gently dabbed the dried blood away.

Clay watched him groggily, eyes half-mast.

"So," the Texan said quietly. "You want to tell me why you went out drinking solo?"

Clay didn't reply straight away, just blinked heavily.

Sonny gently swatted the kid's arm away from his torso, pulling at the hem of his shirt to get a look at his ribs.

Clay shifted, winced, let the shirt be yanked upwards. Clenched his jaw as Sonny probed.

Sonny released the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Clay's ribs appeared bruised, but thankfully didn't seem broken. He would feel better once he was properly checked over though. Thankfully there didn't seem to be any urgency.

Davis reappeared and knelt down, a tea towel-wrapped ice pack in each hand.

Sonny gently placed one against Clay's bruised ribs, pulling the shirt back down to hold it in place. The other he held against Clay's forehead, just above the gash.

Clay stifled a wince, closed his eyes. Shakily he drew a breath. "Things haven't, um …" he started, voice wobbly. Eyes opened back to half-mast. Cleared his throat. "Things haven't been great lately," he admitted. He fidgeted with one of the belt loops on his trousers, gaze skipping to his friends. "And today …" again his voice trailed off. He slowly gathered it back. "Today everything just kind of caught up to me."

Sonny chewed his lip, lifting the ice pack briefly from Clay's forehead. "Yeah," he breathed. "A messy break up will do that to you."

Davis gently rubbed Clay's knee reassuringly.

But Clay gave a small shake of his head. "No," he admitted, gaze growing more distant. "It wasn't just that." He drew another unsteady breath, blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I realized that it was a year ago, today, that Brian died."

Sonny's gut twisted at the memory of Clay's best friend's tragic death. Of course. He felt guilty for not realizing. So much had happened since Clay had joined Bravo, he'd lost track of time. But it was coming up on a year that Clay had been with them, and Brian had died just before Clay had graduated Green Team. Sonny silently kicked himself for not joining the dots. "I'm sorry, man," he said genuinely. He and Clay were close, but Clay and Brian had been friends for a long time. They'd had a lot of history. It had to have hurt like hell losing a buddy like that.

Davis sighed out a breath, glanced at Sonny. The concern in her eyes was still present, but it now sat alongside sadness.

Sonny squeezed Clay's shoulder gently as the younger man closed his eyes again.

A stray tear escaped and rolled down his temple, into his unruly hair, but Clay didn't bother wiping it away.

Sonny pretended not to notice.

"I think it's probably best if I head off," Davis spoke up quietly.

Sonny felt himself nodding.

"You be okay?" She asked gently.

Sonny sat back on his heels, regarding his brother who seemed to have given up on opening his eyes again and appeared to now be asleep. Yeah. He'd been in much worse situations. A drunk and hurting brother wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He would call Jason, and then get some advice from Trent. He had a feeling that within the hour he would have the rest of his team crowded into his small apartment, once they knew what had happened.

"Who needs sleep anyway, right?" He shrugged, twitched half a smile. But the humour wasn't there.

She squeezed his shoulder, pulled him into a quick hug.

Their playful night seemed like a distant memory.

Propping the ice pack gently against Clay's forehead, Sonny pushed himself to his feet. He felt shaky. There was a heaviness within him that hadn't been there before Clay had toppled over his threshold. The kid was an incessant pain in his ass. Life had been a lot simpler before their rookie had come along.

And yet, he wouldn't trade the cocky little turd for the world.

Reaching the door, Davis made sure she had all her things. With a last glance towards the couch, she stood on tip toes, leaned in close, and pressed a kiss to Sonny's lips. "Take care of our boy," she whispered, pulling away and giving him a warm look, before the warmth faded and was replaced by something harder. "We'll get the guys who hurt him," she stated. Her tone was unwavering – it was a promise.

Sonny gave a clipped nod. "I have no doubt we will," he replied.

She took his hand, squeezed it, whispered good night, and quietly let herself out the door.

Sonny didn't want her to leave, but he knew it was for the best. It would be awkward if the others arrived and she was here. They would no doubt ask questions. And he didn't trust his poker face tonight.

Sighing, he made his way back over to the couch to check on Clay.

The younger man appeared to still be asleep, a slightly pained expression resting over his features, lines pinched at the corners of his eyes. And he still reeked of alcohol.

"Come on Goldilocks," Sonny muttered, leaning down. "Can't have you choking on your puke." Gently he rolled Clay to his side, being careful of his sore ribs and forehead. Just like déjà vu, he thought, recalling their recent drunken night in Mexico. He hoped this wouldn't become a habit.

Resettling the ice packs, he let his hand linger a moment on Clay's bicep, gave it a small squeeze. His little brother was hurting, but Sonny had no doubt that between himself and the rest of the team, they would carry him through it.

Straightening, he gave Clay one last glance before snagging his cell phone from where it rested on the coffee table behind him.

Just about to hit dial on Jason's number, he paused as Clay's groggy voice drifted up from the couch.

"Hey," the younger man said.

Sonny blinked down at him. The kid hadn't moved, his tone was slightly disjointed, and his eyes remained closed.

"I like her," Clay mumbled.

Sonny froze, held his breath.

"Davis," Clay clarified.

Sonny's stomach did a little flip.

Clay's eyelids didn't lift, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Try not to screw it up, okay?" He breathed.

Sonny felt entirely caught off guard. A handful of heartbeats passed. His throat convulsed, and it took a moment to latch onto his voice. "I'm working on it," he replied quietly, his tone genuine.

Clay, for his part, didn't reply. But his expression relaxed slightly.

Sonny watched him a moment longer.

But Clay didn't say anything else.

Sonny wondered whether perhaps he wasn't actually awake. Instead had just been dreaming.

His stomach flipped again.

God, he hoped so.

"Get some sleep, kid," he muttered, refocusing on his phone.

Drawing a steadying breath, he dialed Jason. The guys who had hurt Clay needed to pay. Which meant that he and his brothers had work to do.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all win. Here's an extra chapter ;) Hopefully you enjoy it. Thanks again for all your encouraging words x

If Jason had been sleeping, like most normal people at two AM, the burst of life from his cell phone would have startled him.

However, he wasn't sleeping. And the call from Sonny pulled him abruptly from his thoughts - as opposed to his dreams.

It was a welcome reprieve.

Sleep had been hard to come by lately. He was tired of feeling lost in the torrent of worries, memories, and stress that seemed to be crashing through his head non-stop. His bed was a place where all that became terribly loud, without anything else to focus on. And with his recent conversation with Blackburn still fresh in his mind, he was feeling more on edge than ever.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he braced for whatever Bravo Three was about to tell him. Because at this hour, it couldn't be anything good.

As he listened to the Texan relay what had transpired, he questioned whether it was better than being stuck in his own head – or if he preferred it the other way around.

Stifling a groan, he ended the call. His stomach had tied itself in an uncomfortable knot at Sonny's words. He'd already had Clay-related worry simmering away. Now it bubbled up and over. He'd hoped he would have more time to think of the best way to deal with the storm that seemed to be brewing, but unfortunately it appeared it was already upon them.

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he took a moment to scrub a hand over his eyes, let it linger briefly over his mouth. He blew out a breath through his nose. Their 'kid' was single-handedly causing him more stress than his two biological children combined.

Pulling on a shirt and grabbing phone, wallet and keys, he quietly padded towards Emma's room. He stopped at Mikey's half-closed door along the way, checking in on his youngest – happy to see him sleeping soundly, albeit in a crazy position. He carried on to Emma's door, opened it quietly, and crept into the room.

Emma looked so peaceful in her sleep. She'd had a lot to deal with lately, and he hated waking her. But he didn't feel like he had much of a choice. "Em," he whispered, leaning close.

She startled, blinked up at him. Pulled a face and muttered what sounded suspiciously like a curse word.

Jason decided to let it slide. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I've gotta duck out and take care of something. I should be back some time around breakfast. Will you be okay until then? I'll have my cell."

She pulled herself up onto an elbow, eyes clearing, and regarded him levelly. "Everything okay?"

Not really, he thought. But opted instead to answer with a kiss to her forehead, half a smile.

She narrowed her gaze, not buying it. Even at this hour, Jason could see the cogs in his daughter's brain working. "Who's in trouble?" she asked after a moment.

Jason waved her off, but she raised an eyebrow.

"Let me guess," she sighed. "Either Sonny has got into a bar fight and you have to go bail him out of lock up - or Clay hasn't been answering his phone and it's caused mass panic so you're going to check on him, even though he's a grown adult and probably fine."

Jason blinked at his daughter, opened his mouth. Closed it again. Sometimes she was too much like her mother. It was admirable and irritating at the same time.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he hedged, kissing her again and moving towards the door. He paused in the doorway, half turning to face her. "Think you could make up the spare bed?"

A knowing look settled over her features. Her lip twitched. "So, the answer is Clay," she replied, amused.

Jason shook his head. Admirable and irritating. "Call if you need me." He waved his phone.

"How long's he staying for this time?" Her voice followed him as he left the room. "No, it's okay, don't answer. I've accepted that you'll probably give him my room when I go off to college."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Go back to sleep."

Clay had only ever stayed at their place once – okay, maybe twice. But both times he'd been sick, and Stella hadn't been around. His daughter could exaggerate sometimes. Apparently, teenagers excelled at that.

Slipping out of the house, he climbed into his truck. Started the engine. He'd asked Sonny to contact the others, tell them to come around and meet at the Texan's apartment.

Bouncing his cell phone in his hand for a moment, he chewed on his lip. He never liked calling Blackburn in the middle of the night, but given their recent conversation, he felt it was necessary to keep their commander in the loop.

Putting the phone on speaker, he hit dial, figuring he could talk on the way.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason pulled up to Sonny's at the same time as Ray. He cut the engine, hopped down from the truck, and fell into step beside his 2IC.

He shot a glance at Ray. "You get any sleep?"

"Nope," came the clipped reply. "You?"

Jason didn't answer, just shook his head as they hurriedly entered the apartment complex.

Ray had been with him on base less than six hours earlier, meeting with Backburn. It hadn't been an enjoyable discussion. Jason wasn't surprised that his best friend hadn't got any shut eye either.

He chewed his lip as they took the stairs. "I've updated Blackburn. The guys aren't gonna like what I have to say," he muttered.

Ray huffed his agreement.

"Hell, I don't like it," Jason clarified, swinging around a landing and mounting the next set of stairs, two at a time.

Ray kept pace.

"Sonny'll lose his shit." Jason could already picture the hot-headed Texan's reaction.

They reached the correct floor and pushed through a door, into a badly lit hallway that smelled of carpet cleaner.

"Something like this happens," Jason continued as they approached Sonny's door, "we're used to cracking skulls, throwing punches." He turned to face Ray as they paused beside the apartment entry.

Ray's gaze was unwavering, but Jason could see his own frustration mirrored there.

He worked his jaw, jerked his head stiffly towards the door they were about to walk through. "How am I supposed to tell them that they have to stand down?"

Ray levelled him with a look. "We have no choice, brother. You heard what Blackburn said."

Yeah, Jason had heard it alright. It sat like a burning rock in his stomach. He huffed bitterly, leaning heavily against the door frame. "Kid's already up against it, and then this shit has to go down tonight." He shook his head, unable to dislodge his anger. "Fathers are meant to build their kids up – not tear them down."

"We've got his back," Ray said, tone falling just short of reassuring.

Jason picked up on the uncharacteristic uncertainty lacing his friend's words, felt his stomach knot and twist. Sure, they had Clay's back. But would it be enough?

Choosing not to take the conversation any further, he rapped knuckles against the door instead. Chewed his lip.

Ray let out a tense breath beside him.

The door opened, and Sonny ushered them inside

Jason eyed the Texan. Another team member looking worse for wear, who obviously hadn't slept. It seemed to be going around.

Trent rose from where he'd been crouched beside Clay, who appeared to be sleeping on the couch. Moved over to greet them.

Sonny stood, arms folded. Glanced at the medic. "Pretty sure Trent broke some sort of land speed record getting here."

Jason raised a brow.

Trent ignored Sonny's comment, focused on Jason and Ray. "I've checked him over. Nothing broken, just badly bruised. No concussion."

"'S what I said," Sonny muttered, leaning against the kitchen bench.

Jason's eyes flicked to the couch. Clay had a blanket draped over him, tucked in around the edges. He looked a lot younger than his years. Jason noted the gash on his forehead, the puffy eye and split lip. Anger welled within him. He battled to swallow it back down. Blackburn had assured him they would find the guys responsible, and that they would answer for what they did. But Jason couldn't shake the urge to pound them into the ground himself. He wasn't good at handing over the reins when it came to this sort of thing. If someone hurt one of his team – he damned well wanted to hurt them back.

A soft knock came from the door, and Sonny shuffled over to let Brock in, clapped him on the shoulder as he entered.

The normally mild-mannered dog handler caught sight of Clay, set his jaw, a spark of anger flaring in his dark eyes. He muttered something about finding the guys responsible and feeding their testicles to Cerb.

Ray twitched an eyebrow.

Clay brought out the best and the worst in all of them. If anyone threatened their boy, then they would be faced with Bravo's worst.

Which made what Jason had to say even more challenging.

With once last glance at Clay, he motioned for them to follow him into the kitchen. They could talk there without waking the younger man, whilst still keeping an eye on him.

Three men followed him eagerly, each obviously itching to formulate a plan for revenge.

Ray brought up the rear, all too aware that no such thing would happen. He leaned against the counter, nodding at Jason, bracing for the explosion that was about to come.

"So," Sonny said, before Jason could open his mouth. "We teaching these guys a lesson or what? I'm up for a fight."

Trent and Brock murmured their agreement.

Jason shook his head. "Sonny, you're always up for a fight." He drew a steadying breath, shifted gears. Looked pointedly at each of them in turn.

"We can't go after the guys who hurt Clay," he told them after a moment, bracing for impact and holding up a hand to silence any interruptions. "They'll get what's coming to them, don't you worry. Blackburn is aware of what happened and is working on it. But it needs to be by the book." He locked eyes with Sonny, making sure the hot-headed cowboy had heard him. "We need to leave this one alone."

There was a beat of silence.

Sonny opened his mouth, slammed it shut again. Shook his head jerkily. "Hold up a minute," he eventually found his words. "For a second there I thought you said we can't go after the guys who hurt Clay?"

Jason chewed his lip. He'd expected this.

"That makes no sense," Brock mumbled, fire in his dark eyes growing even brighter. "Why would we let this go?"

Trent scrubbed a hand over his short beard. Eyed Jason. Expression just as unhappy as the others.

Jason held up his hands placatingly. "Look," he continued. "For the record, I don't like it either." He glanced towards the couch. "It seems counterintuitive. But …" he sighed. "It's the best thing we can do for Clay right now." He sounded as if he was trying to convince not only them, but himself as well.

Sonny gaped. Paced like a caged bull. "The fuck?" he spat furiously. They had been trying to keep their voices down, but he was having trouble staying quiet. "How the hell is sitting on our asses gonna help the kid? Some guys thought it was okay to rough him up. I say that's not okay, and we show them who the fuck they're dealing with."

Brock huffed his agreement, taking the Sonny's side.

Trent's gaze skipped between Jason and Ray. He sucked in a breath, steadying his own frustration. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll bite. What the hell's going on?" He folded his arms, leaned back against the bench.

Thank you, Trent, Jason thought. Aside from Ray, the level-headed medic was often the voice of reason.

Jason glanced at Bravo Two. "Ray and I had a meeting with Blackburn earlier tonight," he told them, shifted uneasily. "Turns out Ash Spenser gave an interview a couple of weeks back about his new book."

Both Sonny and Brock cursed at the mention of Clay's father.

"He said," Jason continued, "that he had first hand accounts of missions. Hinted that he has someone on the inside feeding him info." He paused, letting his guys process the words.

Trent was the first to put it together. "And there's suspicion that the leak is Clay?" His tone was dangerous.

Sonny cursed again, pounded the bench. "That's bullshit," he snarled.

"Clay would never," Brock said, shaking his head in denial. "There's no way."

Jason nodded. He agreed. They all agreed.

"None of us are thinking he did," Ray reassured them, holding up a calming hand.

"But there are those higher up who aren't so convinced," Jason said gravely, feeling his stomach knot once again. "There are a lot of guys out there who hate Ash Spenser, and who would be more than happy to take that frustration out on Clay." The admission made his blood boil, just thinking about it. "I'm not sure that Clay's aware of it, but it seems he's being dragged into a shit storm."

Sonny was still cursing.

Brock had joined him.

Trent's hands were now by his sides, balled into tight fists.

Jason scrubbed his eyes, not blaming them one bit. Everything about this sucked.

"Look," Ray said, stepping in. "None of us like this. But Jase is right – if we want to help Clay, we need to tread carefully." He levelled his gaze at Sonny. "The last thing we want to do is draw more negative attention to him. We need to keep our heads down." He nodded pointedly. Set his jaw. "Because if we don't," he continued, "and this blows up like we're worried it will do, Clay will need all the support he can get."

Jason was grateful for Ray backing him up. He nodded in agreement. It was probably wishful thinking, hoping that their youngest team member would never be pulled in for questioning – or worse, stood down whilst being investigated – but they had to do what they could to rally around and protect him.

"Honest to God," Sonny grit, "Ash Spenser is a fucking piece of work. I wouldn't be sorry to put him down."

They were all on board with that one.

Brock fidgeted, chewed his lip. Glanced at Clay, back to Jason. "So, what, we do nothing?" He was clearly unhappy with that idea.

Jason blew out a breath, shaking his head. No, they wouldn't do nothing. They would do as much as they could, without making things worse. "We watch him," he replied. "Take turns having him stay with us. Don't let him out of our sight."

Sonny scoffed. "He ain't gonna like that."

"He doesn't have a choice," Jason countered firmly. "There might be others, like the guys tonight. And if we have a close eye on him, then we can make sure Ash doesn't come near him either."

"And if he tries?" Sonny quirked a brow.

Jason's lip twitched. "Then he's fair game."

There was unanimous agreement.

Sonny huffed, let out a few more under-breath curses. Obviously didn't like the situation, but had settled down somewhat. "Well, he may as well stay with me first," he said, glancing towards the couch. "Since he's already here."

Jason had expected as much. Normally he wouldn't have a problem with that, but he felt like it was best that Clay stay at his place first. He told Sonny as much.

"I don't know if he's aware of what's going on," he explained. "I need to have a word with him. Find out if he knows about the interview, and Ash's claims." He felt his gut tighten. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to.

Waiting a beat, Jason let his eyes skip over his team.

Each of them wore matching, unhappy expressions. But there was a general air of acceptance lingering around them now. Solidarity. Understanding. That had to do what was right for their boy. And as hard as it was, sometimes going in guns blazing wasn't the right answer.

As if being aware that the group meeting had finished, Clay stirred from his position on the couch, drawing all eyes towards him.

Groaning and cradling his head, he wobbled upright.

Sonny was already on his way. "If you're gonna spew, tell me now," he warned. But his tone was concerned. He lay a steadying hand on Clay's shoulder, which drew a slight flinch from the younger man.

Clay blinked at him groggily. Slowly shook his head.

Jason moved in front of the couch, Trent by his side.

Clay noticeably shrank as he caught sight of his team leader, medic, and Ray and Brock hovering behind. He inhaled jaggedly, attempted to pull himself up straighter. Failed. His expression was laced with guilt and his gaze fell to the floor. "Oh man," he said quietly, hugging his ribs. "You're all here." He shot a glare at Sonny.

Trent knelt, tilted Clay's chin towards him. Assessed him now that he was properly awake. Seemed satisfied that he wasn't going to keel over.

Jason's hands were resting on his hips. He locked eyes with his rookie. It was obvious that Clay thought he was in for a lecture. It hurt a little that the kid would probably have trouble understanding why they had dropped everything to come check up on him. His walls were still strong, his trust not entirely gained. He was still learning to let his brothers take care of him.

"I'm sorry," Clay sighed, defeatedly. "I screwed up." He looked very small hunched over on the couch with all of them towering around him. "Shouldn't have gone drinking on my own like that."

Jason shook his head gently, waved off the apology. "Nothing to be sorry for," he replied. "You should be able to go to a bar for a drink, without being beaten up."

Clay blinked at him. Seemed unsure. The guilt lifted slightly, but didn't disappear entirely.

Jason leant forward, tugged at the blanket that had twisted around Clay's legs. He didn't want to chat to Clay here, felt it was a conversation they should have in private. "Come on," he instructed. "Get your ass off the couch. I'll take you by your place and you can grab your things."

Clay scrubbed his eyes, glanced at Sonny, and then Trent, seemingly confused.

"You're staying with me for a while," Jason clarified.

Clay processed the words, opened his mouth to protest.

"It's not up for discussion," Jason cut in. He wasn't going to tell Clay that it was an order, but his tone brooked no argument.

Guilt settled once again over the younger man's features. He looked like a remorseful child accepting a punishment.

Jason reached for his elbow, helped him to his feet and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Yep, they had work to do with Clay's trust issues. "You right to walk?" he asked, watching the kid's wince and darting a glance at Trent.

Clay took a few steadying breaths. Nodded slowly.

"Go slow," Trent instructed, eyeing his patient. "Those ribs are badly bruised."

Jason snaked an arm gently around Clay's middle, being sure to avoid the injured ribs, let the younger man lean on him for support. "Come on, kid," he grunted. For someone who currently looked so small, Clay sure was heavy. "I got you. Easy does it."

The others parted to let them pass, each offering their little brother a gentle pat on the back or a shoulder squeeze.

Sonny opened the door, paused and met Jason's eyes as they shuffled over the threshold.

Jason nodded, recognizing the concern in the burly Texan's gaze. As gruff as Sonny could be, he had really taken Jason's request to look out for their rookie to heart. Jason had never expected that his two biggest misfits would become best friends. Never could have predicted that a cocky little turd was exactly what Sonny Quinn had needed.

"I'll take care of him," he reassured his number three. "Now get some sleep. You look like shit."

Sonny huffed, twitched a wry smile. "Don't think any of us are going to be getting much of that for a while."

Jason readjusted Clay's weight. Felt his stomach sink in agreement. He desperately hoped this storm would blow over quickly and without incident - but his gut told him that there was some serious trouble brewing on the horizon.

He just hoped they could weather it.

And emerge in once piece.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay fumbled with the keys at his apartment door. Beside him, Jason leaned against the door frame. Clay had snoozed on the drive from Sonny's to here, and was feeling less and less drunk, more and more beaten and bruised. He wanted to return to the muted numbness the alcohol had provided. But four AM was no time to start drinking. And besides, he most likely wouldn't be allowed.

Pushing the door open, Jason went to help him in, but Clay politely waved him off. It was bad enough he had a babysitter. He could at least move himself under his own steam – even if it hurt like hell. He felt guilty for how his evening had ended up, and humiliated by how drunk he'd been and the mess he'd ended up in. He really didn't want his team smothering him right now, but it appeared he had no choice.

Moving inside the apartment, Jason closed the door behind them. Locked it. Glanced around the room.

Clay felt another pang of embarrassment. He hadn't had anyone around in a while, not even Sonny. The apartment was a dump. Beer bottles and empty take out boxes were scattered here and there. And he hadn't cleaned the floor or wiped the benches properly for at least a few weeks. It was very much reflective of his current state of mind.

Jason didn't comment, just moved to the couch, cleared a space and plopped himself down with a tired sigh. "You need help grabbing your things?" he asked, eyeing Clay and the way he leaned against a chair for support.

Clay released the chair, straightened with a wince. No, he was fine to pack a bag. He began shuffling towards his bedroom, stopped and glanced back at Jason. Chewed his lip. "Is there, um, a reason I'm grounded?" he ventured. "I mean, aside from being an idiot and getting drunk and beat up."

Jason released a breath, leaned back into the couch. Scrubbed his eyes.

"I'm really okay to stay here," Clay continued, hopeful that perhaps his team leader would change his mind. He was hurting, sure, but he'd sleep it off, take some pills.

But Jason shook his head. "It's better we keep an eye on you," he explained, brushing off Clay's attempt at getting him to leave. "Those guys who got the drop on you earlier," he continued, "they're not the only ones pissed off with Ash at the moment."

A chill rolled through Clay at the mention of his father.

"They probably wont be the last to take a swing at you, just to get to him," Jason speculated soberly.

Clay considered Jason's words, felt the pieces connecting. His stomach dropped. "This is about the interview, isn't it," he said. It was a statement more than a question.

For a brief moment, the Master Chief allowed genuine worry to cloud his expression, before quickly scrubbing it away.

Clay felt anxious rage bubbling up within him. He fought to squash it down.

"We feel it's best you're not alone at the moment," Jason explained, trying for gentle, but the gravity of what he was implying seeped through his tone. "We're not sure, yet, what the implications of that interview might be. Ash made some pretty bold claims. And unfortunately, it's shone an unwelcome spotlight upon you."

Clay felt himself blanch. For a moment, he worried he might be sick. He swallowed jaggedly. "I didn't-" he started, scrambling for words under Jason's gaze. He tried again. "I would never-"

But Jason cut him off, waving a hand. "Don't even finish that sentence," he ordered, and levelled Clay with a look. "None of us, not even Blackburn, believe for one second that you've been leaking information to your father."

Clay felt a small amount of relief wash through him at the certainty Jason managed to inject into his words. His throat worked, voice stuck. He opted for a small, broken nod as opposed to a reply. However, anger still pulsed through him.

"Go grab your stuff," Jason suggested, gesturing towards the bedroom. "You look like you're about to fall over. Those ribs must be hurting like hell. The sooner we get back to my place, the sooner you can lay down again."

Clay couldn't deny that he was struggling to stay upright. He ached all over, and yet his knuckles tingled with the need to pound the shit out of something. He hesitated a moment longer, and then shuffled towards his room.

Once inside, he made quick work of grabbing a duffel bag, fishing clothes out of drawers, tossing them inside. He tried to steady his breathing, quell his mounting rage - but once the last item of clothing was in the bag, he couldn't hold onto it any more.

It exploded out of him like a pressure cooker, his fist flying to pound the wall.

Pain cracked across his knuckles, and he hissed, jerking his hand back to his chest. Tears pricked his eyes. Anger gave way to defeat, as his body protested at being jarred so roughly.

A moment later, a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. Jason was beside him, looking between his now-bruised knuckles, and the dent in the wall.

Clay grit his teeth. Willed himself calm.

"Save it for the punching bag," Jason said gently, hand still on his shoulder, steadying him. "It's a lot more forgiving than that wall - or your landlord."

Clay's gaze flicked guiltily to the floor. The last tendrils of fight left his tense muscles, and he sagged slightly.

Jason lingered a moment longer, as if making sure the younger man wasn't going to crumple in a heap.

Clay squeezed his eyes closed briefly, regathering himself.

Jason moved to the bed, zipped up the duffel. Hoisted it over his shoulder. Stood patiently in the bedroom doorway.

Clay stared at the wall, rubbing his sore knuckles absently. "My father," he said quietly, voice aching in his throat, "has been fucking up my life since the day I was born."

Jason didn't reply.

The painful admission hung heavily between them.

Clay once again felt tears threaten, banished them by blinking rapidly. He moved his gaze to Jason. "You know," he said brokenly. "Towards the end of SERE, when I was hallucinating, I saw my father."

Jason drew a slow breath, straightened slightly.

"We were in the ocean," Clay explained. "He was a dead weight on my legs." He huffed bitterly. "Bastard was trying to drown me."

Jason winced slightly.

Clay nodded jerkily. "I guess that pretty much sums up our relationship." He sniffed, scrubbed a hand over his stubble. "I fucking hate the man. But I can't seem to get him out of my life."

Another few heavy heartbeats passed.

Eventually Jason stepped towards his wavering rookie, slid an arm around his middle and moved them both towards the door. "Let's go, buddy," he said softly.

Clay didn't fight it. Let himself be herded back out towards the living area.

Breaking free of Jason's hold, he snagged his keys off the kitchen bench. His eyes caught on the photo of him and Brian that he'd found the day before. He'd propped it in the empty photo frame that used to house his favourite photo of him and Stella. He stared at it a moment.

Jason must have followed his gaze, because he stepped closer, nodded towards the image. "That's a nice photo of you and your friend," he stated genuinely.

Clay glanced at his team leader, noticed a flicker of sadness cross his features. Yeah. It was a nice photo. Once again, he felt his thoughts dragged back to the day Brian had died. His vision blurred for a moment.

He turned the keys over in his hands, noticing they trembled slightly. "Do you know the last thing he said to me, before the accident?"

Jason shook his head.

Clay blew out a breath, worked his jaw. Stared at the beaming face of his long-time best friend. "He told me he liked Stella." His lip twitched, remembering the brief conversation they'd had in the field before the jump. There was no humour in the empty smile that ghosted his features. "Told me not to screw it up." He huffed brokenly. Bit his lip. "Honestly, sometimes I feel like that's all I do, you know." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory. "I screw things up."

Jason considered a moment, gaze fixed on the youngest member of his team. Eventually he replied. "Maybe that's how you feel," he said. "Maybe that's how your father has made you feel. But you have to know - that's not how we feel."

Clay leaned against the bench, his ribs throbbing. He let out a shaky breath, nodded slowly. Unconvinced, especially after tonight.

Jason must have realized that his words hadn't truly sunk in, because he gripped Clay's shoulder, made sure he held the younger man's gaze. "I want you to remember something for me," he said firmly.

Clay held eye contact, even though he wanted to shrink away.

"I want you to think of SERE. Remember the feeling of your father dragging you down."

Clay blinked, confused.

Jason didn't give him a chance to reply. "And then I want you to remember who it was that lifted you back up." He nodded pointedly. "Whose hands you held onto. Who pulled you from that barrel."

Clay's throat worked, and tears pricked his eyes once again. He swallowed them down, nodding. Understanding.

Jason gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We always have your back, brother," he stated firmly.

Clay blinked rapidly, his breaths jagged around the lump in his throat.

They stood like that for another heartbeat, and then Jason broke the silence, shifting gears. He nodded towards the front door. "What's say we get out of here?" He suggested. "I'm so tired I could fall over, and you look like absolute hell."

Clay huffed, grateful for the heaviness dissolving around them.

Jason pulled his cell phone from his pocked, waved it with a hint of annoyance. "Sonny has messaged me three times, asking if we're home yet and if you're okay."

Clay's lip twitched.

"And Trent," Jason sighed dramatically, "has messaged twice to remind me to give you painkillers once we're home, because the alcohol should have worn off enough by then, as well as left three voice messages explaining what I can and can't give you to help with your various ailments."

Clay's lip twitch morphed into a small grin.

"So, please," Jason continued, shouldering the duffel and moving to support Clay once again around his middle, ignoring the younger man's feeble protests. "Let's go. Because they're driving me fucking crazy."

As if on cue, the older man's cell phone chimed with a new message.

Clay caught sight of Brock's name on the screen, felt amusement bubble within him.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason muttered, leading them on.

Clay vaguely wondered how long it would be before Ray joined the group, checking in.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a small amount of warmth unfurl within him. Just enough to chase away some of the dark.

He would take Jason's advice, and hold on to his team like a life raft.

He had to believe that whatever deep water he was entering, the strength of his brothers would carry him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really the end this time ;) I'm hoping that the implications of Ash's interview are explored this season – obviously resulting in a lot of angst for Clay, oh and whump would be a bonus, but when is it not?
> 
> Enjoy the new season everyone!


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